Past Sins
by Child of Loki
Summary: A new case dredges up an old one for Chris LaSalle, and all of the painful memories he's tried to forget. Brody/LaSalle/OC (Established Cherri) (Flashbacks to Vice!LaSalle)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **NCIS: New Orleans**_ **or its characters…**

 **Author's Note: Another one of those 'I woke up with this story in my head and it wouldn't go away until I started writing it' deals. This one has established Cherri (Chris LaSalle/Merri Brody) because I think I've worn out all the ways to get them together. And sometimes, it's nice to take a break from 'ship origin' fics and just to dive in. But truth is, it's just what was in the story (I have only partial control over characters and plots… they just are what they are).**

* * *

"I don't see no ring on that delicious pecan sandy."

"That doesn't mean he isn't spoken for, Sonja." He was an attractive man, Merri had to admit, even though she wasn't shopping around. She didn't tend to favor blondes herself, but his hair was that appealing sandy brown sort of color that natural blondes had. He also had soft blue eyes, an attractive face and square jaw line. He was a couple inches shorter than Pride who was currently conversing with him in private in the courtyard. The older man probably had ten, maybe twenty pounds on him, but the fit young man in the grey suit had a presence to match the agent's subtly intimidating one. "Besides, he's a person of interest in our case."

"Don't mean he's a suspect," Sonja Percy said, still studying the hotshot lawyer they'd dragged in as part of the current investigation. His brother, recently released from prison (and thus far untrackable) was their primary suspect. "An' I just sayin'... Maybe a little flirtin' might loosen Pecan Sandy's lips up."

"Ya ain't his type, Percy."

Both of the women jumped where they stood in the kitchen doorway gawking, and turned to face their team mate. Merri thought herself a pretty good agent. Aware of her surroundings, possessing fair reflexes and the ability to stay calm, control her reactions. But _damn_ if Chris LaSalle didn't disavow her of that notion on nearly a daily basis. That man somehow could sneak up on her without fail.

"Ya sayin' a sister can't get wi' a fine Pecan Sandy?" The short fiery agent glared at LaSalle. She cast her eyes over to Merri who responded with a 'what did I do?' return glare. "Leggy, Caucasian with a D-cup is what does it for you white boys?"

LaSalle scowled at Percy, then studied Merri for a moment, getting that certain lusty look he sometimes - _okay, often_ \- gave her. She felt her cheeks flush and she self-consciously pulled her sweater closed over her large bosom. As if she could hide it. As if he didn't already know what lay hidden under sweater, blouse and bra.

Yes, Merri well knew that's what did it for Chris LaSalle, but as for the man currently resisting to give them any assistance on the case... She had no idea. Why Chris seemed to think he knew was another intriguing question.

"Mere ain't his type, either," he said.

Percy exchanged a look with Merri. Sometimes, she couldn't understand what was going through that self-centered head of their newest recruit. Other times, they were perfectly in sync.

"Blonde," the two women said in unison. Merri thought Chris would laugh at that. He was generally a good sport, even when the two women teamed up on teasing him. But when he responded, he sounded even more sober.

"Nope. He likes 'em brown-haired an' blue-eyed."

He pushed through the pair of gawking women and walked out into the courtyard. When the blonde man saw Chris, he stopped mid-sentence, his soft blue eyes growing wide, and his mouth hanging ajar for a moment before he closed it, lips forming into a tight line.

Merri slowly made her way into the courtyard, keeping her distance, but too damned curious to pass up on witnessing this odd turn of events.

"Chris?" the blonde man said. He was looking at the agent like he'd seen a ghost. No. Not a ghost, but a long lost friend? Merri wondered if the man was yet another one of LaSalle's many old 'Bama friends. But he didn't have any detectable Southern accent.

"Travis," LaSalle said. Merri could tell there was some significant emotions going on in her partner by the way he'd completely shut down. He was wearing his serious face. She didn't like it. It wasn't him. She loved the Chris that was all open and intense, whether it was with amusement, affection or even passionate and righteous anger.

The two men, old acquaintances of some sort, didn't shake hands. Pride was looking between them with an equal amount of consternation as Merri felt.

"Good ta see ya agin," Chris said after the silence stretched on until the tension in the air was palpable.

"Not sure I can say the same." The smooth-talking lawyer seemed to assert himself and pull together the pieces of what resembled a crushed little boy. "I was telling Agent Pride, here. I don't have anything to do with my brother anymore."

Chris LaSalle simply nodded, looking a little nervous.

"But what are you trying to pin on him this time, if I might ask?" The blonde's tone had a sharp, accusatory edge, and his pale blue eyes flashed. Merri shifted on her feet, looking to Pride and then Sonja. They returned her bewildered, uncomfortable look. The two younger men appeared to be in a world all their own.

"He was guilty of ev'ry charge aginst 'im an' ya know it, Trav," Chris said. Gone was the stoic facade now. "Not ta mention he was convicted by a jury in a fair trial."

"And he's served his time, as I gather it." The blonde man swallowed and looked away, which seemed to break the walls of their self-contained world. Chris glanced at his boss, who motioned him aside.

"Percy, Brody, why don't you get Mr. McCann a coffee." Pride issued one of his suggestion-orders.

Damn. The two women looked at each other. They both wanted to hear the father-son-mentor-protégé conversation about to take place on the far side of the courtyard. But suggestion-orders were suggestion-orders.

…

"So, you and Chris know each other?" Merri asked as she placed a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of the blonde lawyer. He was an even more attractive man up close, in an unassuming sort of way. She wondered how 'adorable' worked for a lawyer. Either it was very useful. Or very detrimental.

He sighed in a manner that very clearly illustrated he didn't want to talk about it.

"You could say that." He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. Merri smiled and Percy laughed in sympathy.

"They like the chicory-roast around here," Merri said. "You sort of get used to it."

"Or ya don't." Percy made an 'ew' face. "I still hafta get mine from the cafe down the street."

"The women at the office get only flavored stuff." Travis McCann put on a sympathetic, charming expression. "When did it become more difficult to find some plain old coffee than the fancy stuff?"

"Hear that," Percy said, nodding, and staring a little too much like a smitten teen at the man she'd dubbed 'Pecan Sandy'.

Merri had to admit the man was good at deflection and distraction. She let it slide a little, studying him. He was clean cut. Neatly trimmed hair and clean shaven face. His suit was tailored to his trim figure but didn't look to be an exorbitantly overpriced brand. He wasn't as uptight as he appeared on first glance. His tie was loosened from around his collar and the top buttons on his shirt undone. But he was blatantly unnerved, his fingers tapping on the table top, his eyes staring at some nonexistent point. He was either deep in thought... Or memories.

Merri took the seat catty-corner to their... uh... guest. He finally blinked then looked at her, stared at her. Was he trying to...?

"You and Chris are together," he said, capturing her with eyes that now looked more green than blue. She supposed lawyers had to be good at reading people, too. Sonja Percy laughed, obviously amused that the interrogator had gotten one-uped.

Recalling what Chris had said about the man's type, and the way he'd looked at her partner, Merri could easily prove she'd gotten a read on the situation as well. But that might be revealing something the man she loved wouldn't want the mouthy, selfish former ATF agent to know. Or even Merri to know.

Also, the notion was incongruous with everything she knew about her Bama Boy. Yet there it was, staring her in the face with stormy blue-green eyes.

"We are. We live together," she said, holding the lawyer's unwavering gaze and seeing jealously and hurt flare there, his cheeks growing pink. Unsettlingly, she couldn't deny that it further evidenced what she couldn't reconcile with the man she knew, loved.

"How'd y'all know that?" Percy could never be left out of a conversation for long. And for once, Merri was glad of the interruption. She didn't know where exactly her staring contest with the younger man was going.

McCann didn't fall for the distraction, however rude it was to continue to stare at Merri as he answered her team mate's question. "He still uses Lever 2000."

Merri nodded. She wanted the truth from Travis McCann. And the best way to attract it was to offer the truth in return.

"His scent is all over you."

They lived together, so of course she smelled like her boyfriend. But her cheeks still grew hot with a tinge of embarrassment. Because the suggestiveness in the blonde lawyer's tone wasn't at all wrong. She usually insisted on 'mornin' lovin' (as Chris called it) before she showered. But well, things had gotten a little amorous while they were clearing up the breakfast dishes and... Apparently, she had the stink of it, _of him_ , still on her.

She shrugged, added the fact that Travis McCann knew what soap Chris used to the ever mounting pile of evidence leading to a conclusion she was not especially fond of reaching. She didn't want to include the fact that he could've been referring to the scent of Chris' body and not just his soap being all over Merri. Because that would only prove the hypothesis she had formulated but wanted to reject.

Pride and Chris appeared in the kitchen. _Thank god_. The atmosphere was getting a little tense as the younger agent's 'old acquaintance' stared down his girlfriend.

"You can go for now, Mr. McCann," Pride said. "We may have some further questions for ya, however. So don't ya go to far now."

The blonde lawyer gave Pride a look for the condescending cliché. They all knew what the agent was saying: Don't leave town. Funny how some things were really just like in the movies.

"We'll need to keep tabs on him, just in case his brother attempts to make, contact," Pride said after Travis McCann left the premises. "Percy, work with Patton. See if you can't come up with a way, between his digital eyes and your real ones, to cover the man 24/7."

"You got it," Percy said, but didn't dash off to the computer consultant's den. Merri couldn't blame her. There were a lot of unanswered questions (unasked ones, too) hanging about the kitchen like an oppressive fog.

Merri studied her partner who'd gone back to his default safety mode, all uncharacteristically stiff and terse. Oh, it might pass here. But when she got him home... She'd soften him up, make him talk.

Pride raised his eyebrows at the petite woman. _Well?_ And she stalked off sulkily.

"The two of you should probably talk," Pride said, sending a poignant look Chris' way. "So I'm goin' down to the Morgue, to see what Miss Loretta and Sebastian have to say, 'bout our dead sailor."

He gave Merri a sympathetic look as he left her and Chris alone in the tense silence of the kitchen, to stare at one another. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to ask. Maybe she shouldn't say anything at all, shouldn't push him to share things he didn't want to share.

He blew out a sigh, sunk into a chair, his stoic exterior dissipating. Merri sighed in relief, that they hadn't finally hit something in their relationship too serious for them to work out . She wouldn't have to futilely fight her curiosity, which was compelling her to pry into a part of his past he likely wanted to keep to himself. Because he obviously knew her. Maybe trusted her enough to share the secret. Or was it a painful memory? She couldn't imagine it was a good one, not with his reaction. And that of the man who'd caused it.

She sat down across from him at the long kitchen table, reached out and took his hand. He looked up at her, his dark blue eyes reflecting the tumult of emotion that flowed over his expressive face.

 _Oh, god, Chris. What had happened?_

* * *

 **A/N: Not sure where this came from, except with such a long Law Enforcement career for such a young man, there have to be some interesting stories in there. And Vice is not any easy beat to work. They don't touch on it much, but I wonder how much undercover work LaSalle had to do, and what sort it was… Hence this fic?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Brief Coarse Language; Mild References to Mature Subject Matter**

* * *

"What's going on, Chris?" Merri asked, worry blatant in her tone. He could see she was at war with herself, wanting to know yet wanting to respect his boundaries. And while normally, he'd push any girlfriend away when she picked at certain scars on his soul, he didn't want to distance himself from Merri in any way. God knew why she was different than any of the others, including Savannah, whom he thought he'd loved.

Well, okay. He knew the reason why Merri was different. He'd fallen in love with her, now knew what it was really supposed to feel like. And once he'd accepted that fact, and eventually learned she felt the same, well, he'd decided never to hide things from her. There were things he hadn't told her. That was always the case with any couple, especially when less than a year into the relationship and classified missions in some of their pasts (hers). But she'd never asked, either.

But now she was asking...

"You have a history -a painful one- with Travis McCann?"

He sighed. The only question was how much he was going to tell her.

"That unnamed undercover cop in Alexander McCann's old vice file..." That was the simple answer. He knew she'd probe for details. She was a curious thing. And a clever one. Which was part of why he loved her.

"It was you." She stared into his eyes with her gorgeous brown ones. Damn. The woman was beautiful.

"Yeah."

She gave him a 'really, that's all you have to say?' look. Merri wouldn't openly push him unless she felt he needed it. But, all the same, the curiosity was blatant in the firm set of her mouth. And he knew it was also based out of concern for him.

Chris began his tale, despite the guilt and heartache he knew he would suffer in the retelling. Not to mention that he feared what she would think, that the woman he loved would think less of him for his actions nearly a decade ago.

"I wa'n't even 25 when I joined Vice, an' I was an ambitious asshole..."

* * *

God, what had he gotten himself into? He just needed to say focused on the goal, the bust to end all busts. Putting a very bad guy away. Helping to clean up the streets. Not to mention it would solidify his value to the Vice squad.

Chris frowned, briefly wondering what Dwayne Pride would say about this assignment, about what Chris was doing, and his reasons for doing it. The NCIS agent was becoming a good friend. And Chris found himself turning to the man with ever increasing frequency for advice, despite the fact that he was a little too soft for the type of crimes and criminals the younger cop fought. At least in the other Vice detectives' opinions. Most other folk Chris talked to seemed to like and respect the man they'd dubbed 'King' quite a bit.

But he hadn't talked to Dwayne Pride in nearly six months, since before he'd taken on this assignment, eager to please his new bosses. He'd been the perfect candidate for some undercover work. Although not new to the force, he hadn't caught any major cases as a petty crimes detective (besides that murder he'd never solved, which he tried not to think about because it irked him so much). So anonymity was a point in his favor. Also his young age and a background that only needed a little tweaking. The less lies to remember as an undercover, the better. He was a runaway from 'Bama. Unlike Chris LaSalle, however, Chris Taylor had no college education and been surviving on low-paying menial labor jobs around the city since he'd arrived there penniless after high school. He was street smart, had a soft spot for the home state he'd left behind, and went out drinking 'til the wee hours of the morning.

"Come on, Chris." Travis squeezed his hand, dragged him towards the front door of the big old house in the Garden District. Why did the twenty year old seem so much calmer about this? The kid was the one bringing a boyfriend home to meet his mama, whom Chris suspected didn't know her youngest liked boys and not girls.

Pretending to be something you're not.

Chris had come to understand Travis McCann quite well. Only, it was the other way around for the young undercover detective.

Travis was pretending to be something he wasn't, was only himself with Chris.

Chris was pretending to be something he wasn't with Travis.

And after nearly half a year, the guilt was beginning to grow to an uncomfortable sized knot in his chest. That didn't even touch upon all of the strange things it did to his head, 'pretending' to be gay. Was it pretending if he wasn't repulsed by it every single moment? Was it still 'pretending' if he'd begun to enjoy it? If he liked kissing the younger man, with his lips as soft and mouth as sweet as any woman's? At what point would he be considered 'gay'?

He supposed he could adopt the mentality of some macho subcultures, that if you were the pitcher and never the receiver then you weren't homosexual. Wasn't that the prison code, too? Your weren't a gay bitch if you only gave it and never took it.

Only, Chris actually liked Travis McCann. He was a good-hearted kid, despite possessing a lawless, homicidal brother deep into the drug trade. But Vice had targeted him as the weak link, the means to get at Alexander McCann and his illegal business that was threatening to grow into mob or cartel proportions as he expanded into other black market endeavors. Travis was both under his brother's protection, and being groomed to join in the business. And so the young man had to keep his romantic proclivities under wraps, in order not to appear 'weak'. Enter a sympathetic ear in the form of a young man four years his senior, street smart and hardened like the criminal element Travis' brother wanted him to be. Someone to look up to and admire. But also naive and vulnerable in the department of his uncertain sexuality. Chris used his own inexperience, hesitation and fears about seducing another man (definitely a man, though barely out of his teens he may be). He didn't have a chance in hell of hiding them, after all. Travis had been patient and understanding, said he'd been with bisexual men before, and never pushed him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with. (Although the way the younger man looked at him with pleading eyes sometimes made him squirm with the pressure, that want and _love_ in those blue-green depths.)

It was three weeks of going out to drink after work before Travis had tried to kiss him. Chris had gotten a menial labor job at one of the legitimate shipping businesses the McCanns ran. Travis was employed as the supervisor of the warehouse, and Chris had caught the younger man checking him out as he lifted and shelved crates with nothing but his own two hands and the muscle he'd put on for taking the case. It was difficult at first to figure out how to properly flirt with a gay man, but Chris had settled on a compromise between how he'd behave if Travis had been a woman, and how he'd want the target of his attraction to behave if he was Travis. It had worked. The young blonde man had asked him if he wanted to get a beer after work that night.

It'd become a regular thing. And then hanging out to watch a game... And then three weeks in, sitting on the couch with a 'Bama game playin' on the tv, Travis put his hand on Chris' knee, leaned in and kissed him. It had never been blatantly outlined in the assignment briefing. It never was. But if they expected undercover female officers to sometimes 'take one for the team' and seduce a suspect or the target of an operation, then how could he hold himself above the ladies? He'd do what needed to be done. He'd show the higher-ups he had what it took to close cases and put the bad guys away.

The disturbing part was that it hadn't been all that difficult to engage in the romantic relationship with Travis McCann. He was a fun guy to hang out with. Cracked jokes a lot. But was also very intelligent (he even ran his own book for a good sized set of clientele composed of sports-betting addicts). It was sort of just like hanging out with one of the guys... Plus sex. That had come much later. A couple months in. They made out quite often, and Chris discovered kissing a man really wasn't all that different than kissing a woman, after all. All humans had lips and tongues and teeth, skin... even nipples that puckered and hardened under some teasing attention. Sensitive necks and throats (although this one had an adam's apple and sometimes stubble-which was an interesting texture to experience second-hand). Asses felt the same when you cupped and squeezed them. The only alarming thing was when things arose. More than just his own thing. It had taken some getting used to, to say the least.

When he wasn't at work, or the bar or Travis' place, the doubts and guilt flooded into Chris, overwhelmed his mind to the degree where he'd actively had to fight off panic attacks. He wasn't gay. He wasn't even really bisexual. Never had looked at another man in that way. But he liked Travis a lot. He was a smart kid. Had a sharp sense of humor. His eyes were a strange but pretty sort of hazel. Sometimes they seemed blue. Sometimes Green. He had a warm smile. And was a healthy, athletically built guy. Lean but not skinny. A good companion to shoot some hoops or throw a ball around with. And Chris had to admit, Travis had a nice, firm, round ass.

Despite his original doubts about whether he could do it or not, Chris did become physically aroused by the exuberantly affectionate blonde (he wasn't sure anyone could resist such sensual attention). He really enjoyed the whimpers and moans Travis made when he kissed and touched the younger man. The way he kissed Chris. And touched him, full of admiration and a desperate need for Chris' love and approval.

And that's how he was getting in tight with the McCann family, by seducing the youngest brother. Just a few nights ago, he'd been sleeping in Travis' bed, the slightly smaller and younger man spooned up against his front, that delectable ass of his cozied up to Chris' groin. He'd been kissing the back of the blonde's neck, had his arms wrapped about his chest, holding him, when Travis had whispered, "I love you, Chris."

There was no other reply he could possibly give. "Love ya, too, Trav."

He hugged the kid tighter, making him sigh in such a contented way that it broke the deceitful undercover detective's heart. Except, it was surely what was getting him this introduction to the rest of the family, to the kingpin brother, Alexander. He just needed to hang in there a little longer. A few more months, maybe less if he managed to get access to Alexander's blackmarket ring. They'd tried direct approaches, on the business side, but pieces of two undercovers had ended up being fished out of the bayou, with no evidence to connect them to the McCann's operation. Really, besides continuing to bust the dealers on the streets (and trying to flip them on their suppliers who would never turn on Alexander McCann), this unorthodox operation was their last hope to truly put them out of business. And dubious though the method might be, here Chris was standing at the mouth of the lion's den...

They weren't standing on the big front porch for long before the door opened to reveal an elderly woman with a stern expression that melted as soon as her faded blue eyes settled on her youngest son.

"You made it for dinner," she said, opening the screen door wide to let the boys inside. "And you brought your friend."

Chris was shocked to receive the same smile as the woman gave her own flesh and blood. But he returned it and held out the pastry box of macarons he'd picked up from his favorite French bakery earlier that day.

"Thank you fer havin' me, Mrs. McCann," Chris said.

"Oh, what's this?" She took the box, peaked inside, looking very pleased.

"My mama taught me never ta show up empty-handed ta a dinner party, ma'am."

Mrs. McCann laughed. It was the same genuine, infectious laugh he'd heard from her youngest son a hundred times now. She turned to said son, gave her boy a wink.

"And they say you can't find a Southern Gentleman nowadays," she said, making Chris blush.

The dinner went well, except for the crippling heartache it had caused Chris. He missed his own family something fierce. He hadn't talked to any of them in the 22 weeks he'd been under (warning them ahead of time lest they send a search party after him). And it was going to be much longer before he heard the sound of his mama's voice, his brother and sister's laughter.

The sense of familial affection was strong amongst the McCann's. He'd expected to get cold or outright hateful looks, to have to earn his way in with charm and by proving his loyalty to Travis. Or to face a denial of the nature of their relationship, or disgust and hostility towards it, them. But contrary to what Chris had been prepared to face, Mrs. McCann had seemed to outright love him. And Travis' much older brothers seemed to like him. Alexander watched him in an aloof sort of way. Richard was only a couple years younger than the eldest McCann son and thirteen years older than Travis, but he fulfilled his role as middle brother, teasing the baby of the family and his new boyfriend. No one at the table had any delusions about who the Southern Boy was to their beloved youngest member.

It was almost more unsettling. The easy acceptance and welcoming hospitality.

He spent half the time blushing when teased about how smitten Travis was with him, about how charming they all found the Boy from Alabama with his 'excessive' manners. (They were northern transplants, moving to New Orleans when Travis was five years old.)

He spent the other half waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Rich's 23 year old wife, Christie, seemed to abhor Chris' presence. So at least there was some hostility to put the undercover detective's mind at ease, something for his alert paranoia to embrace. Then again, he guessed it more had to do with the fact that she wasn't the center of attention that evening, something she was apparently accustomed to being.

It turned out to be an extremely successful dinner however, and not only in terms of the acceptance Travis received from his family (in the confines of their own home... Chris had a feeling it would be different in any sort of public setting). But the undercover detective had a very interesting conversation with Alexander McCann, who was obviously feeling the young laborer out for some work besides Warehouse Grunt.

And Chris thought he'd done a pretty good job with his cover, despite the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed. Although, maybe it was easier being Chris Taylor than he wanted to believe. And maybe that realization had made him drink even more.

Mrs. McCann confiscated the keys to Chris' old 1969 Dodge Power Wagon, and made sure Richard loaded the pair of intoxicated young men into a cab. They stumbled home to Travis' place, tumbling into bed too drunk to do anything but wrestle to obtain their favorite cuddle positions. Travis won, straddling Chris' hips and pinning his wrists to the mattress, making his lover who normally dominated their romps submit to letting the slightly smaller man curl up on his chest, placing his cheek on Chris' chest over his heart. He supposed he should feel guilty. Trav's favorite sleeping position was born of affection, wanting to fall asleep lulled by the beating of his lover's heart. Chris' favorite sleeping position was to have the younger man's backside spooned up against his stomach and groin. It was because in the beginning, he found it easier to imagine it was a woman's round bottom pressed snugly against his cock, to convince himself the smooth skin of shoulder and neck were more feminine than masculine, that maybe it was a female body that he liked holding onto at night, that he often woke aroused by in the morning.

"I know it can't have been easy meeting my family, Chris." The whisper surprised him, for the blonde's breathing had evened out and he'd thought him asleep. "Thank you."

Unexpectedly strong arms squeezed his chest in a tender hug (he was a wiry, smaller guy). Soft, warm lips lighted on the skin of his chest in delicate kisses. Despite the alcohol in his blood, Chris felt arousal stir low in his belly.

"I had fun," he said. "Yer family's good people, Trav. Not like mine. They wouldn' never... They wouldn' be like that..."

It wasn't entirely a lie. He knew ultimately, his family would accept it if he told them he was gay. He knew they only wanted him to be happy.

But he _wasn't_.

Chris frowned, wondering if he wasn't homosexual or if he wasn't happy.

He wasn't either, he decided.

Travis' hand stroked his side, like a child petting a puppy. All innocent, pure love.

He was both, he decided. Happy and Homosexual. And neither.

But definitely miserable with guilt. Guilt so bad he wanted to cry and scream and put his fist through the nearest wall. None of which he could do without blowing his cover, pushing Travis McCann away, and making everything he'd done over the past six months entirely pointless. He hadn't challenged every certain notion he'd had about himself for nothing. There had to be a reason, a reward for the panic attacks and the heartache, and fucking another man (and convincing himself he liked it... and then actually liking it... Then… then _loving_ it).

Chris pulled Travis up so that he could kiss his sweet mouth, currently also bitter with the beer, a little smoky from the whiskey. Travis made a happy sort of whimper, nuzzling into Chris' neck before falling asleep in the detective's arms. Chris lay awake for sometime afterward, guilt gnawing at his insides, far more toxic than the alcohol flooding his liver and blood stream.

Deceit.

It was the worst of sins. The most destructive. To one's self and to others. Even murder, especially crimes of passion or manslaughter, the detective somehow didn't see as quite as soul blackening. Taking a life was certainly evil. But not quite so cruel as the continual torment deceit perpetrated. With murder, a person was there, alive, themselves, complete and honest. And then they were gone. Deceiving a person, making them fall in love and then telling them it was all a lie, every true and happy feeling... The perpetrator ripped parts of them out, crushed those pieces into oblivion. They'd never be whole again, in life or death. The agony of such a wound was unfathomable. He'd never personally experienced it. And honestly, he didn't think he'd survive such a betrayal... Not just betrayal, but an insult that pierces without killing, letting everything inside drain out, a wound that never heals.

He was knowingly doing it to Travis McCann. And it was too late now to change his mind. The knife was already sunk deep. When it was inevitably removed, Chris would've effectively killed part of the young man's heart and soul.

That wasn't even considering the act of deceit against himself. And God help him, Chris had no idea if the lying was in the pretending, or in the convincing himself it was just pretending.

No. Chris LaSalle was committing worse than murder, blackening two men's lives, wounding Travis MCann's heart and his own soul.

The only question was how long the damage would last? A few months? A year? Several Years? A lifetime? An eternity?

Was it worth the price?

Did it matter if his answer was 'no'? It was too late to do anything else.

It was too late to save his soul.

* * *

"You were lovers." Merri's voice was soft, filled with shock. He got up, went around the table, pulled her chair out, turning her to face him and crouched down before her.

"That's what he believes." Damn. It might have been laced with deceit, but, "That's what it was, I guess."

But Chris needed her to know. He cupped her face, stared into her pretty brown eyes. "But I wa'n't never in love wi' 'im. Not like wi' you, Mere."

She blinked, nodded.

"I ain't gay. Or bisexual. I just..." He'd moved his hands to her knees to steady himself, caught himself squeezing her warm thighs as if she could anchor him. Hell, over the past couple of years, she'd become his anchor.

"It was the job. And you did it." Her voice was a little hollow, and he felt despondent at the thought that he'd repulsed her, pushed her away with the truth of his past nature. He wasn't that man anymore. He never really was, underneath it all. Couldn't she see that 24-year old asshole Chris LaSalle was dead? Couldn't she-

She did. He could tell she did.

He'd finally dared to meet her eyes again, and she wasn't angry or disgusted with him. Her gorgeous eyes looked... Sad. And sympathetic.

"It's okay," she said, reaching for him and pulling him in between her legs so that she could wrap her arms around him and hug him to her from where she sat, let him bury his face into her blouse and breathe in the fragrant vanilla-cherry scent of her. The odor of that morning's sexual romp -sweat, his and hers- was a subtle undercurrent that made him feel even closer to the woman. "I get it, Chris. I really do."

"Hey guys, there's something' ya gonna wanna…" Percy trailed off when she fully entered the kitchen and caught the couple in the intimate pose. Chris felt his face turn hot as he hastily extricated himself from Merri's embrace.

The petite agent cleared her throat uncomfortably, seeming to take a moment to recover from witnessing her training agents in such a tender and vulnerable moment. Merri was quite vehement about keeping their relationship outside of the workplace (well, out of the view of their coworkers while on duty). So the display had been doubtlessly unexpected.

"Or I can just leave you both to whatever it is ya got goin' on here," Sonja said, her sarcasm reasserting itself, which was actually rather reassuring.

"No," Merri stood, her 'business' face on. "We're good."

They followed Percy out of the kitchen to where Patton was sat before the plasma with what looked like surveillance footage frozen on screen.

"When we started tapping into as many surveillance cameras as we could find to put eyes on Travis McCann, I found this in some back-dated footage. It's the lobby of the building where Markum & McCann has their law offices."

Patton played the footage. And there in grainy black and white, Travis McCann was having a heated discussion with his older, criminal brother. _Oh, Trav._

"Someone's a liar," Percy said. "Ya gonna go talk to him, or should someone more _impartial_ do the questioning."

Normally such an implication would've pissed Chris off, but he couldn't deny this case had gotten very murky for him. But his history with the young lawyer might just be an advantage.

"No. Let's not push him again," Chris said. "He's already on edge. Let's just see what he does, if he can lead us to Alexander."

"And if he doesn't?" The mouthy agent was doing her job, voicing an opposing opinion, but her words and tone were twisting an old, familiar knot of guilt up inside of Chris' chest. He'd thought he'd rid himself of it… Or at least buried it deeper than this. Again, he would be using Travis to get at his brother.

Merri's hand slipped into his, her fingers squeezing his gently. She was his anchor. And his backbone. And his heart. He had no idea how he would've survived such terrible old wounds being reopened without her. But with Merri's support…

He could do this.

"Then we drag his back in and throw him in interrogation."

* * *

 **A/N: How's Chris going to deal with the current case when he's haunted by his past? Why does Merri seem to understand his pain so well? Will they track down Alexander McCann and solve the murder? And does LaSalle's old 'boyfriend' have anything to do with the current sins of his brother?**


End file.
